


A Soft Epilogue

by Aer



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Andy/Quynh and pre book of nile, Angst, Background Relationships, Big Bang Challenge, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29857113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aer/pseuds/Aer
Summary: The end consequence of immortality was always going to be living through the end of the world- that was a foregone conclusion, almost boring in its inevitability. The important bit was what happenedafter.In the wake of a disaster no one saw coming, a band of immortals strive to do their best for the world that’s left, and discover that not even they know everything there is about life, humanity, and immortality. On a road to nowhere special, Andy, Quynh, Joe, Booker, and Nile meet Nicky, a librarian unlike anyone they have ever met before- or so they think. Yusuf al-Kaysani never met Nicolò di Genova, but destiny has been making hurricanes out of butterfly wings for centuries now, and she’s not giving upthateasily, end of the world or not.The Old Guard- post apocalypse.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 114
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

Andy’s eyes narrowed. The man facing her scowled through his thick beard. Joe kept his hand from going to the hilt of his scimitar by sheer force of will, fingers flexing as he watched the stand-off. It felt like the world was holding its breath. Joe certainly was. The tension weighed down the air until even the slightest moment felt as though it might be deadly, tinder to the spark.

Arm muscles twitched, each minute shift seeming magnified by the stillness surrounding them like a palpable force. The bearded man’s nostrils flared. Andy gritted her teeth.

_Slam!_

The back of the man’s hand collided with the tabletop. Groans erupted, intermixed with cheers. Joe, Booker, and Quynh all made sure to cheer obnoxiously loud in the face of those that had doubted their leader. Nile, as the only sensible one of their merry little band, had stayed in their room to catch a nap and as such wasn’t there to laugh at their silliness. Joe let out a breath as he relaxed, the release of tension sparking down his spine like a shot of the headiest liquor.

“Come on, pay up!” Booker shouted over the commotion, a wild grin on his face as the bartender made a sour face, but obligingly pushed over the pile of deer jerky they’d been using as betting chips. Booker scooped them up, taking a large bite out of one as he tucked the rest away in his bag.

Andy smirked, her title as arm-wrestling champion uncontested yet again. “My winnings?” She drawled, leaning against the table.

Her opponent- a broad, muscular man who looked much like a bear, but was much friendlier- snorted genially. “Yeah, yeah, here you go. Half a dozen bottles of our finest brew, just for you.” He thumped a cloth bag down, the contents rattling.

“You’re a peach, Marcus.” Andy fished out a dark brown bottle and popped the cork, taking a hearty swig. “You used a different yeast this time, and more hops.” She observed as the rest of their group joined her at the bar, Quynh smirking like it had been her victory.

Marcus shook his head with a laugh. “Yes, but how can you _tell_?” Joe laughed.

“We’ve been trying to stump Andy’s palette for years my friend, and haven’t managed it yet. Your beer, while excellent, would hardly be a challenge for her.” Andy just took another sip, humming in pleasure at the taste. Alcohol, even weak alcohol like beer, was something of a luxury these days, and not one Andy took lightly. Joe already knew the rest of them would be unlikely to even see the bag with Andy’s winnings again. Andy guarded her pleasures jealously.

(Joe didn’t begrudge her it. Niceties as simple and uncomplicated as a good beer were in short supply in these times. Andy was entitled to keep whatever enjoyment she could find without complaint or critique, and Joe was more than willing to fight anyone who suggested otherwise. They all would- if there was anyone who deserved nice things, it was Andy.

After all, she’d been the one to live through not one, but _several_ apocalypses of varying sizes, and that surely deserved some sort of prize.

Then again, even Andromache the Scythian hadn’t seen _this_ one coming.)

Andy wore a smug smirk for the rest of the evening, her spoils of war tucked close to her side as they ate and laughed with the rest of the small community. Quynh lounged against her other side, face achingly peaceful in the candles’ glow. On the other side of the table, Nile and Booker sat comfortably within each other’s space, sharing a loaf of dark, warm bread. Joe watched them quietly, smiling but unable to keep his thoughts from following the same old melancholy tracks.

Joe loved his sisters and brother with all his heart, but that did not change that for over a millennium he had felt as if half of his own heart was missing.

Joe’s mother had often told him, “You were made for love, my sweet Yusuf.” As a child, Joe had taken that for granted- of course he was loved and would love. Discovering his immortality had not changed that for himself, meeting as he did his dear eternal sisters so soon after his first death and rebirth. After all, he had them, and they had each other, and surely there would come someone for him as well. Joe had believed that with all the same foolish confidence of his childhood, and waited eagerly for the day he would dream of the one destiny had chosen for him.

For a time, he even thought he _had_. The day the icy-eyed man had appeared in his dreams Joe had been elated. Another immortal, appearing so close to him, could only be his match! That Andy and Quynh did not dream the same as him was at first of no concern- how could it be when the truth was so clear? He was it, had to be. The dreams continued for most of a decade, compelling and elusive in equal measure, and Joe pursued each one just as fervently as the first. Then, one day abruptly they just… stopped.

(What Joe had forgotten about that day was that he had bumped shoulders with a hooded figure. They had apologized in heavily accented Greek, and then had been on their way. Joe never thought anything of it.)

Joe had kept up the search for almost another ten years before Andy and Quynh finally sat him down to tell him the story of Lykon and the ways in which nothing, not even an immortal, was truly permanent. They broke Joe’s heart, that day but they also held him as he wept, mourning the possibilities which now would never be. The pain faded eventually, as all things do, and Joe moved on with his life, as an immortal must, with many regrets but also renewed resolve.

Across the room, a flash of movement caught his eye, a flicker of color that sank its hooks into his flesh and pulled him from his thoughts as forcefully as a body blow. A man, one Joe did not recognize, met his gaze for the briefest of moments before turning away, a hood concealing his face. Joe stared, willing his eyes to pierce through the dim candle light and dark fabric to reveal why this stranger looked as if he might have stepped out of the ancient past and into this bar.

For though time had long worked its magic upon his memories, smoothing the details and then even the broad strokes of those long ago dreams flat, one detail had remained. Even as the rest of the man’s face and form vanished from his mind’s eye, this one small thing stayed, as crisp and clear as the day Joe had first dreamed the man up.

For as long as he lived, Joe had never been able to forget those eyes.

Joe’s gaze bore into the side of the man’s head, but if the man was aware, he did not show it. A long moment passed, before one of the bar’s patrons pushed past him, blocking Joe’s sight for what seemed to be mere seconds. But by the time the way was clear, the man was gone as if he’d never been. A strange pang echoed in Joe’s stomach- one of loss, he would have said, but there had been nothing here for him to _have_ , much less have lost. Joe stared into the newly empty air, thoughts swirling unintelligibly around his skull.

A burst of laughter from his companions broke his reverie, and Joe shook his head, forcibly returning himself to the present moment. Booker nudged his shoulder playfully, and Joe laughed too, immersing himself in the camaraderie so freely offered. Even if he never found anyone else, this would be enough. It _would_.

The empty space at his shoulder _ached_.

* * *

The world ended on a Tuesday.

Even now, decades later, that fact has always stuck in Joe’s head. It was the sheer _banality_ of it, he was pretty sure. The idea that one Tuesday afternoon, the entire world would be brought to its knees without warning seemed ludicrous, and yet. One moment they’d all been enjoying a lovely sunny afternoon, and the next…

The next, the sun was flaring, and life as the twenty-first century knew it was over.

Not that many realized it at the time- not even Andy, and she’d lived through plenty of events that seemed fit to end the world in her time. Floods and plagues and marauding armies were all familiar old friends to the oldest of their little group, but this? This was none of those. This was not something that could be planned for, waited out, or defeated if one just fought hard enough.

After all, no one could fight the sun itself.

The initial death toll was actually fairly small- mostly caused by planes crashing as their instruments failed and their engines stalled. A tragedy, to be sure, but a recoverable one. And everyone expected to recover.

It would take weeks for the full picture to unfold before the eyes of a disbelieving world. Around the globes, electrical grids remained dark, communications towers unresponsive, every circuit board and switch destroyed by the influx of charge from the sun. Factories ground to a halt, cars stalled by the thousands as their internal regulators died, and every computer on earth died a quiet, ignoble death as their internal components fried. The entire earth went silent. Joe had never before seen an entire planet’s worth of people hold their breath as they waited for something, anything to fix this.

And then the sicknesses started.

Unbeknownst to most, when the electrical grid had blown out, with it had gone the systems safeguarding the cities’ sewers and water treatment plants. Hospitals, generators already overtaxed and failing more every day, couldn’t keep up. Their beds overflowed as they were flooded with patients sick with the kinds of illnesses that had become so rare as to be unthinkable- cholera, dysentery, and typhoid reigned. Millions died in the first swell; then millions more as the cities emptied, people fleeing that which they could not understand or control even as they carried it with them.

Joe and the others hadn’t left- death from cholera held little sway over someone who’d already died from it centuries ago and still remembered the best ways of surviving it. They’d done their best to teach others, but voices of reason were few and far between in those days and so many died because of it.

The worst, by far, had been the hospice wards. The people with cancer, heart failure, end stage kidney failure… All the ways the human body could fail itself the most. Joe had done his best, they all had, but for those unfortunates there had been nothing they could do. Without electricity to power dialysis machines and ventilators and refrigerators there was nothing anyone could do as their own bodies killed them.

All the immortals could do was watch.

Booker had the hardest time, of course, so many old wounds reopening, but none of them had been unaffected. Nile had taken it almost as hard as Booker. Their youngest had seen much but never anything like this. Joe, Andy, and Quynh had just done the best they could, as they always had. It hadn’t been enough, but nothing ever was.

The end consequence of immortality was always going to be living through the end of the world. That wasn’t the important part. No, what was really interesting was what happened _after_.  
The next day dawned bright and early, much to everyone but the immortals’ discontent. Hangovers were, it turned out, a universal constant, apocalypse or no. Joe bit back a chuckle as Marcus, in his role as headman of the little village, glared blearily at them.

“Regretting challenging Booker to a drinking contest now?” He teased gently. Marcus scowled.

“How such a skinny little guy can hold that much beer I don’t think I _want_ to know.” He grumbled. “He’s lucky we set aside so much for the summer fest or he would have drank us dry.” Joe smirked- if only Marcus knew, but that wasn’t why they were here.

“You said that you might have a job for us. What is it?” Andy interrupted, crossing her arms with a frown. Immortal healing was great for many things, including hangovers, but nothing could make Andy happy about having to be awake early after a late night.

Marcus nodded, blinking some of the fog away as he pulled out a wrapped package. “Yeah. It’s pretty basic but we can’t spare anyone from the fields right now, and you said you were heading towards Ord next, right? We’ll pay you in rations for the trip if you take this with you. It’s pretty light, and you just need to get it to Henry, the mayor there.” He hesitated for a moment. “And I’ll double the amount of rations if you wait a few days for them to respond.”

Joe looked to Andy. Playing mailman once would have been well below their pay grade, but the kinds of jobs they used to take just didn’t happen anymore. Doing good now was often all about the little things.

“Whats in the package?” Andy asked, eyes hard and suspicious. Marcus just looked tired.

“Antibiotics- and some letters. Everyone is short these days, but Ord’s run out and they’ve got a nasty outbreak of tick-fever. We had some to spare, and if we don’t help out, who will?” Andy scrutinized him for a long moment, and then nodded.

“We’ll do it.” She looked at the rest of the group. “Pack up, we’re heading out as soon as we finish eating.”

“Yes, Boss.” Joe chorused with the rest, heading for the room he’d shared last night with Booker and Nile- Andy and Quynh always got their own room if they could afford it. Joe loved all of his siblings dearly, but there were some things no man wanted to know about his sisters. Hence the need for separate rooms, especially when they’d been drinking. Alcohol was almost always a prelude to... other pleasures for the couple of their group.

(One day, Booker and Nile might require their own room too- Joe was and wasn’t looking forward to that. One on hand, a room to himself was a luxury rare and precious since the flare. On the other, a room to himself after so long in close company sounded nigh unbearably lonely.)

Breakfast at the inn was simple- hard boiled eggs and soft cheese over slices of bread still warm from the fire- and then they were on their way. Marcus had a bag of the promised rations, a mixture of pickled vegetables and hard cheeses that would easily last all five of them the three days walk to Ord and back, along with fresh bread and even some smoked meat. It was an impressive spread, made more so by the fact that whoever had prepared the package had obviously leant towards things that required time to prepare, and as such couldn’t be made while on the road- as Joe and the others so often were- while still being practical for travel. It was... thoughtful. More so than Joe had expected of people who didn’t travel.

Andy’s eyebrows quirked up, but she didn’t say anything, only jerked her head in a short nod before slinging the bag over her shoulder. Joe took the package of antibiotics, tucking it away in his pack for safe keeping, and offered Marcus a smile. Marcus smiled back before his attention was caught by a startled shout from the kitchen. He waved them off, already turning towards the commotion, and Joe chuckled. Such was the life of the man in charge.

Outside, the sunlight was bright and hot, making all of them squint. Joe blinked, and almost tripped over the man leaning against the wall just outside. “Sorry, sorry!” He muttered, rubbing at his watering eyes.

“That’s alright.” A soft, accented voice answered, and Joe looked up, only to freeze. Eyes he’d seen only in his dreams blinked back at him, the man from the night before offering him a small smile. “I was in the way. I apologize.”

“It’s ok, I wasn’t looking.” Joe replied on automatic, drowning in that icy gaze.

“Joe!” Andy’s voice cracked through the air, and Joe’s spine straightened, instincts responding to her tone before his mind could catch up.

“Duty calls.” The man said, nodding towards Joe’s group.

“Yes.” Joe agreed, backing away for a few steps before he was forced to tear his gaze away, lest he trip over one of his companions and fall flat on his ass in front of this stranger with his dreamlike eyes- who he really should get a name for if he was going to keep being captivated by him.

Quynh coughed sharply, and Joe spun around, falling into line. Centuries of experience had taught him to fear when Quynh got impatient.

“Safe travels!” He heard called out after them. Joe lifted a hand in reply, and headed down the road, following Andy as he had for centuries. For a long moment, he almost thought he could hear a second set of footsteps, falling in time with his own.

His mind always did like to play tricks on him. Joe shook his head and faced forward, his footsteps echoing loud and alone in his ears.

* * *

“Nicky, I think we’ve found an escort for you!” Marcus nearly shouted, sounding far too jubilant for _this_ early in the morning.

Nicky bit back an exasperated groan, eyes squinted almost shut. “Not this again.” He sighed instead, and if his next few kneads of the bread dough were a bit more forceful, well, no one would be able to tell. Marcus and the people of Comstock meant well, Nicky knew. Unfortunately, that only made it more frustrating. “Marcus, I’ve been traveling alone for years, I’ll be _fine_.” He said, for what must have been the thousandth time. And, for the thousandth time, he was soundly ignored.

“Not for hundreds of miles! Nicky, come on, you know it’s not safe to travel alone. It’s going to be fall soon, and there have been all those bandit rumors. Henry just wrote me back that they lost three more cows last week.” Henry was the mayor of Ord, which meant-

“Marcus, you can’t mean to tell me you think I should hire that band of five that came through? For one, we don’t know anything about them! For two, there’s no way I could barter with that big of a group for this long of a journey!” Nicky protested.

“They don’t have any other jobs lined up, I asked. And they got the medicine to Ord and came back in record time, Henry has nothing but kind words to say about them too. Apparently once they heard about the sickness they spent over a day just helping at the clinic.” Marcus shrugged. “They seem like good people, Nicky.”

Biting his tongue, lest his first thoughts on _that_ slip out, Nicky stayed silent, carefully shaping the loaf he’d been preparing for dinner. He hoped he hadn’t overworked the dough by accident in his annoyance. Nicky deeply appreciated how often Marlene, the head cook, let him into the kitchen, and he took the responsibilities that came from that privilege seriously.

(Preparing meals more complicated than a stick of meat over an open fire was a rare occurrence in his life and he relished each opportunity as a delicacy in its own right. Farm raised meat in any form, cheeses both soft and hard, and vegetables fresh or preserved were all rare in the life of a solitary wanderer, and he treasured each chance to work with them he could find- even if it was something as simple as preparing ration kits for a short term traveler. Nicky just plain liked food, liked making it, eating it, and getting to watch others eat the things he made. Being allowed in the Comstock kitchen as often as he was- and he was in there almost every minute he wasn’t helping out somewhere else- was a gift beyond anything else Comstock could have offered him. And it was because of this that his hands were extra gentle as he rolled the dough into a loaf. Marlene had placed her trust in him many times; he would hate to abuse that trust now with subpar bread.)

“They might be the best people in the world, Marcus,” and Nicky doubted that, “but that still wouldn’t change the fact that I have nothing that would be of use to barter to them, especially not for something this big.”

Marcus waved a hand dismissively. “Let us worry about that. We’re the ones hiring them.”

Nicky’s hands clenched involuntarily, fingers pressing into the dough and denting the loaf. He bit back a curse and began painstakingly reshaping it. “Marcus, _no_. There’s no way you could afford that, not when you need to be saving as much as you can for winter.”

Marcus rested a hand on his shoulder. “Nicky. You’ve done so much for us, let us do this for you.”

Nicky shook his head. “I am a _librarian_ , Marcus. I do what I do and ask for no payment beyond food and shelter for a _reason_. I am here to teach and share my knowledge, not hold it hostage.”

“And that’s why we want to do this.” Marcus’ voice was gentle, but implacable. “Your knowledge saved lives, your stories saved hearts. That’s a precious thing, these days, and we would hate to see it lost. Your big librarian brain is good for a lot of things, but defending yourself against bandits? No, that’s for people like that crew.”

Nicky bit back a frown. If only Marcus knew… But that wasn’t the important bit right now.

“And I’m sure they’re very good at their job-“ Nicky wasn’t even lying about that, the group was large and well equipped, which said either very good or _very_ bad things about them (and that was an issue all its own, but he would worry about that later). “-but that just means they’ll be even more expensive.” And that was the crux of the issue, the thing that had Nicky digging his heels in as hard as he could.

Librarians bartered in stories. It was the whole point of their order, and it was one Nicky was proud of. But stories would not mean much, if anything, to a mercenary crew, and Nicky refused to let the people of Comstock take on that cost. Especially not for _him_. He was about to open his mouth to keep arguing when Marlene abruptly shoved a spoon full of gravy into his mouth.

“Tell me how that tastes, and then shush, Nicky.” She commanded. “We’re doing this for you, no more arguments.” Nicky frowned around the spoon, but Marlene was unmoved.

“We appreciate what you’ve done for us, and more than that, we want to pay that forward by making sure you stay alive to help others.” She said, brisk and no-nonsense. Nicky swallowed the mouthful.

“Needs more pepper and some time on the stove.” He offered. “The flavors need to draw through.”

Marlene nodded thoughtfully. “I figured as much, but this is your recipe so it’s best I checked.” She turned back to the stove, poking at the fire lit beneath.

Nicky eyed her for a long moment and then turned back to the next batch of dough. If Marlene was also insisting, then it really was the whole village. Marcus could read the capitulation on his face, Nicky was sure, but the man was gracious in victory, and merely clapped Nicky on the shoulder.

“Come out to the bar once you’re done in here, I should have everything hashed out with the crew by then.” He tossed over his shoulder as he strode out of the kitchen. Nearly everyone from the town must have been in the common room, judging by the wave of sound that spilled in. The door swung shut, leaving Nicky in peace. For a little while, at least.

He swiftly shaped the loaf, setting it to the side to rise with the rest. Letting out a heavy sigh, he leaned tiredly against the counter. Marlene gave him a smile.

“People care about you, Nicky.” She said, gentler now that he’d given in. “It’s ok to let them.”

Nicky smiled back, but didn’t say anything. How could he explain to these people- these good, kind, down-to-earth people- that he was many things, but in need of their care was not one of them, no matter how much he might appreciate it. They were worried over a person that didn’t really _exist_ , and that only made it harder to accept their kindness.

Nicky the librarian was both as real and as ephemeral as the stories he carried, existing only in the minds of those he met. It put a sour taste in Nicolo’s mouth to reap the benefits of those connections, even as he had no choice but to continue to do so. He had been many men, over the years, and while he’d gotten used to the feeling, he didn’t have to _like_ it. Nicky the librarian was possibly the most harmless of his many faces, but that wasn’t always a good thing.

He sighed again, and turned back to the large basin of sticky dough. He would go out and meet up with Marcus and this crew he’d found- but first, Nicky was going to knead some bread in peace and quiet.

He had a feeling he’d need it.

* * *

Joe lounged against the bar, eyes half lidded and languid. It gave him a lazy look, he knew, but that was rather the point. No one expected the guy who looked half asleep to be watching their every move. He’d been doing it for so long that it was a near unconscious habit, even with people he knew, in areas that had been deemed safe. The headman Marcus was proving to be a veritable fountain of jobs- two in one week? It was rather astonishing.

For his part, Joe was just glad they had convinced Andy to drop the “no repeats” rule as soon as everything went to hell, or else they would have run out of possible clients in less than a decade. Though most people did make it longer than a few days before hiring them back… Either way, Joe was more than a little interested in the job- and the payment- Marcus had promised them. Missions larger scale than a single village or two were rare these days, and Joe knew his siblings well enough to know they were getting bored with package runs.

“So, what’ve you got for us today, Marcus?” Andy asked, brusque. Marcus beamed at them.

“We need you to escort someone traveling a long way from here. We’re willing to bargain with you for whatever you might need as long as he gets there safely.”

Andy pursed her lips. Booker leaned forward in interest, while Quynh hid a yawn- pit viper that she was, these simple jobs often bored her. Joe would sympathize, but he rather liked the more peaceful options available to them these days. Nile, bless her Marine heart, didn’t twitch a muscle even as Quynh muttered something too quiet for the rest to catch into her ear.

Joe, for his part, stayed still, but kept his ears sharp. He wasn’t the biggest fan of body guarding, but it certainly wasn’t the most onerous thing they’d ever been asked to do.

“Who and why?” Andy kept things businesslike as always. “People don’t travel far these days, what could possibly be their reason?”

Aka: was this a trap or a con? Joe didn’t think so, but there was a reason Andy was the boss. And he had to admit, it _was_ rather odd that Marcus was specifying such a long journey. In these days, most people had little reason to travel much further than their fields, or maybe a town or two over, and fewer had the desire. The roads were hard, and often dangerous, between the wildlife and those that even now chose lives of thieving and murder over honest living, though those were thankfully fewer than the movies of old had predicted.

“It’s Nicky. He’s a librarian.” Was all Marcus said, shrugging, as if that was all the explanation needed. In some ways, it was. Everyone at least knew _of_ the librarians, the itinerant storytellers and knowledge seekers that had banded together in the aftermath of society’s collapse in as effort to preserve as much of humanity’s collective history as possible.

However, there _was_ one small detail that Joe had to admit was confusing him-

“Since when do librarians need an escort?” Andy asked, mirroring Joe’s thoughts perfectly.

Marcus ducked his head, looking sheepish as one hand rubbed at the back of his neck. Before he could speak, a softly accented voice interrupted. “Technically speaking, I do not require an escort. However, I need to travel to the Chicago outskirts and the fine people of Comstock have expressed concern for me making such a long journey by myself.” Turning to look at the speaker, Joe’s eyes shot wide.

Marcus was saying something in response, his voice buzzing unintelligibly in Joe’s ears, as Joe drowned in eyes he’d seen only twice before but never met.

The ice-eyed man smiled warmly at them, holding out a hand. “Hello, my name is Nicolò, though most just call me Nicky. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The lack of a last name was interesting, but not as much as it once would have been.

Andy nodded shortly, ignoring the offered hand. “I’m Andy.” She said. “This is my crew.” The others murmured their own greetings and introductions- Joe wasn’t really listening.

Nicolò’s- Nicky’s? It seemed so informal to call him that, when they’d just met- hand was warm and calloused. He smelled like woodsmoke and baking bread, the flour dusting one cheek making it obvious where he’d come from.

“Hello.” Joe smiled, bright and cheerful. “My name is Joe.” He was used to being the friendly face to Andy’s more brusque demeanor, and slipped easily into that role now.

Nicolò shook his hand once, firmly and gave Joe a somewhat perfunctory smile. His eyes had already slid past Joe to focus on Andy. Joe blinked, a tad surprised to have been dismissed so easily, and for Andy’s relatively unwelcoming response. Their hands fell apart. Joe’s palm tingled, suddenly cold.

“As I am by no means helpless on the road, I hoped to discuss terms with you before you or Marcus made any decisions about payment.” Nicolò said, still friendly but distinctly less warm.

“Nicky-“ Marcus began, only for Nicolò to raise a hand, cutting him off.

“I am most grateful for your kindness and care, Marcus, but I have been surviving on my own for many years now and I feel it is only right to include those skills in the bargaining.” Nicolò said, gentle but implacable, and with a sigh, Marcus subsided.

“Always gotta do it your own way.” He muttered, fond and exasperated in equal measure. Nicolò just smiled at him, and Marcus shook his head, but didn’t say anything more. He waved a hand at Nicolò, silently ceding the conversation to him.

Andy gave the man an assessing once over, something like reluctant approval in the twist of her mouth as Nicolò met her eyes. “Alright, let’s talk.” She said, and Nicolò nodded, icy gaze direct and focused. Andy didn’t waste any time, immediately launching into a rapid fire series of questions that Nicolò answered without pause, never breaking eye contact with her. Joe allowed himself to fade to the background once more, listening intently even as his eyes drooped sleepily. Watching the burgeoning debate through his eyelashes, Joe hummed lowly to himself.

This job was already looking more interesting than anything he had seen in a while, though only time would tell if that was a _good_ thing.

Joe was holding out hope anyway.

* * *

The whole town turned out at dawn to say goodbye when it was time for Nicky to leave. Marlene pressed a kiss to each cheek and a warm bundle of wrapped bread, studded with dried fruit, into his hands despite his protests and the bounty of food already tucked into his pack. Marcus shook his hand, rough but no less heartfelt. Others called their goodbyes from a distance, just as warmly meant.

The hardest goodbyes were the children, with whom he’d spent many a day entertaining with stories and games as their parents all worked the fields bringing in the harvest. “Bye Nicky! Come back soon!” One precocious child called, waving. Nicky waved back, smiling, though it took effort to keep it from twisting sadly at the corners.

A librarian’s life was one of wandering, and it was rare for them to tread the same path twice. He might return to Comstock, but he could just as easily spend the next decade roaming westward instead, following a story the same way a nomad might follow the winds. Most assuredly, he would not return before the children forgot him, in the fast paced whimsy of youth. It was better that way.

(At least, that was what he told himself, every time someone had tried to tempt him into staying. Homes were not for those such as himself, whether that home be place or person. It was better to keep moving- Nicky was good at that. At least as a librarian, he had a reason, he had _purpose_. It was enough- it had to be.)

“Ready?” The brusque question interrupted his thoughts, and Nicky glanced over. The group’s leader- Andy, he should get used to calling her Andy- raised one eyebrow, impatience in every line of her body. She looked a mere moment away from tapping her foot, Nicky observed, barely keeping his mouth from quirking in amusement. Instead, he merely inclined his head.

“Yes.” He glanced at Marcus one last time. “Thank you for everything, Marcus.” He kept it simple. It was easier that way.

“Bye, Nicky. Come back soon, ok?”

Nicky smiled softly. “Of course. Goodbye.” With that, he turned away, unwilling to stand on anymore ceremony. “Shall we?”

Andy nodded, short and sharp. “Let’s go.” As one, all five of the crew- and really, five guards was just _excessive_ , but no one had asked him- pivoted, heading for the edge of town without another word. Nicky fell in step, resettling his pack and the attached bow and quiver in preparation for the day’s travel. He had to conceal a sigh- this was going to be a long trip. He could just feel it.

The first hour passed by in silence, broken only by the gravel road crunching beneath their feet as they walked. Nicky was content to remain so- he had been with the good people of Comstock for nearing six months, and peace had been in short supply for much of it. He hummed quietly to himself, enjoying the calm for as long as he could will it to last.

His companions seemed to be of much the same mind, at first. Surely, they were as used to long travel as he, and knew to pace themselves accordingly- the loping walk that their leader set, designed to eat up the ground even as it conserved as much energy as possible told him that. It was a pace Nicky was more than used to, and he matched it with ease. But alas, the quiet was not meant to be. Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps the lure of a new traveling companion, the thought of stories they hadn’t already heard a thousand times before- but soon enough, the silence was broken.

“So… Nicolo? Is that how to pronounce it?” Nile asked. “I heard you were a librarian, but what does that _mean_? How can you be one now, and _why_?”

Nicky smiled at her. “Please, just call me Nicky. Nicolò is what my mother would call when I was in trouble and in need of a scolding.” Nicolò was a heavy name for a heavy soul, and the weight of it did not belong in Nile’s smiling mouth.

Nile laughed. “Ok! Nicky then.” She agreed cheerfully. “And the rest of it?”

Nicky shrugged. “I am a librarian. I’m not sure what more meaning you need me to explain- I would think the name is fairly self evident?”

“Yeah, but aren’t librarians like, the people that sit behind the desk in a library? Shush you when you get too loud, help you find books, that kind of thing? But libraries aren’t a thing anymore, so…”

Nicky felt his eyebrows raise a little higher with every question, because- “It has been a long time since I have heard librarians described as such, and certainly not as the norm. Have you truly not met one of us?” Most people as young as Nile looked would never have seen an actual library- Nicky himself could no longer claim to have, lest people begin wondering at how young he looked for his age- to reach over seventy years of age these days was a feat, much less the near hundred such claim would suggest. He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d heard of that old librarian stereotype…

Nile shook her head. “Nah, never had the opportunity. We kind of…” Her mouth pursed, voice trailing off as she tried to come up with the words to answer Nicky’s question. Well. Palatable words, any way- Nicky was not in the business of judgement these days, but he knew a thing or two about how difficult it was to support a wandering lifestyle for one person, much less for _five_. This group would not have had call to meet one of Nicky’s people, that much was true. The reasons behind it…

Well. Nicky was not in the business of judgement, but nor was he inclined to offer her any help in defining those reasons, no matter how friendly she was. He may not be in a position to throw the first stone, but neither was he obliged to lay the foundations of anyone’s glass house.

“We travel extensively.” One of the others cut in smoothly. Nicky turned to him- it was the one who’d introduced himself as Joe- his smile still firmly in place. “We don’t tend to stay long in any one place, and there aren’t so many librarians that it’s as simple as encountering one on the road.”

Nicky dipped his head in a brief nod, conceding the point, and paused for a moment, in case Joe had anything more to add. They continued on in silence for a minute, and he turned back to Nile rather than allow it to become more awkward.

“Librarians in the old days were stewards of knowledge, yes?” He said. Nile nodded. “They did all that you described, but also they tended to their domains, maintained the records, and ensured that anyone seeking a book could find it.” Nile nodded again, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration and a hint of confusion.

“Sure…”

Nicky’s smile widened. “Then what else could I call myself _but_ librarian, when I do all of that just the same.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “It’s just, my library is up here instead.”

Nile’s eyebrows shot up. “In your head?”

An unexpected voice echoed the question. Joe had apparently continued listening to their conversation- perhaps in case his compatriot needed a rescue again- and was also emulating Nile’s expression, Nicky noted with amusement. Though the two were clearly unrelated, they had equally clearly spent a long time together, and it showed.

“Where else would I keep it?” He asked, still amused.

“In a _book_ , in a _library_ , the same as everyone else!” Joe sounded almost indignant, and Nicky bit his lip, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Books are heavy and unwieldy for travel.” He pointed out. “And storing them can be a tricky prospect, especially without proper facilities and dedicated care, which takes more than one man can give. My own library needs nothing more than my mind and my memory.”

“But the benefit of a library is that it can contain more books than any one person could ever know.” Joe pointed out, eyebrows furrowing in challenge, though Nicky got the sense it wasn’t meant to be hostile.

“Not to mention, isn’t memory like, super unreliable? I mean, I have a hard time remembering what I had for breakfast this morning, much less a whole book, or a bunch of them!” Nile added.

“But breakfast is a boring and mundane thing. I’d be willing to wager you remember even the most minute details about something you find interesting or exciting.” Nicky pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but remembering a cool piece of art is way different to literally memorizing entire books! Especially as just one person!” Nile shook her head disbelievingly.

“But I’m not just one person.” Nicky corrected. “I am part of a collective of minds, all dedicated to working together to preserve and share as much knowledge as we can.” He wove his fingers together. “When I learn a story or song or set of instructions, I’m not on my own. I have my fellows to learn it with me, and catch me when I misstep, and trust me to do the same for them, forming a web of knowledge that can correct and update itself as necessary. In that way, we are both librarians and libraries in our own right.”

“Any library can burn. Doesn’t matter if it’s paper or people. They’re each as fragile as the other.”

All three turned to look at Andy, who was still facing forward even as she spoke, an almost military precision to her movements. Nicky studied her profile in silence for a long moment- it was funny, he couldn’t help but think, how she had delivered words that should have been cruel, unkind, and yet merely seemed… sad, as if the loss meant more to her personally than anyone could know.

For a long second, they just walked, not even the wind daring to disturb the melancholy of the moment. The reassurances Nicky would usually offer- for Andy was far from the first person to voice concerns at relying on human memory- seemed suddenly cheap and paltry when weighed against the quiet grief of those words.

(Nicky had seen and heard many griefs in his time. Andy’s quiet words had trumped them all.)

“We should take a break to eat lunch.” Quynh, who had thus far ignored the conversation, suddenly spoke, utterly fearless in the face of the heavy silence that had fallen. “I want to rest my feet.”

“You always want to rest your feet. You’d make us carry you if you could.” Joe teased, smiling. Quynh tossed her thick black hair, and turned away with a haughty sniff, though Nicky could see the smile curling the corners of her mouth.

“A break would not be amiss either way.” Nicky agreed. His pack was never too heavy, but there was no need to push either. Their feet would have plenty of time to get sore over the month of travel. Andy scoffed a little, but obligingly slowed her pace and began scanning the wooded area for a decent place to stop and rest.

Nicky, who had come this way only a few years before, was about to offer that if he recalled correctly- and he very nearly always did- that there was a little clearing not much further along the road where some enterprising soul had carved and smoothed several tree stumps into a surprisingly comfortable seat. Before he could open his mouth, a sharp whistle pierced the air, and the last of their party came jogging back from where he’d been scouting ahead- taking the whole escort mission idea very seriously, Nicky had noted with some amusement earlier. Now...

“Book?” Andy acknowledged.

“Hey, you guys want to stop? There’s a clearing ahead, we can rest and eat something before figuring out where we should stop for the night.” Internally, Nicky sighed, just a little. It had been a long time since he had had to travel with others, and he was beginning to remember how frustrating it could be.

Externally, all he did was adjust the pack slung over his back, passing one hand over the hidden pockets to ensure nothing had dislodged, and continued walking.

* * *

Their erstwhile client- however unwilling he had been- was an... interesting one. Joe had guessed as much from their first meeting, and continued exposure had only served to strengthen that feeling. Everything from his extreme reluctance to accept their services to the speech he’d just given Nile about his profession screamed of a fascinating person beneath the placidly smiling face.

(Joe had taken very careful note of what Nicolò _hadn’t_ mentioned in that little soliloquy- an admirable passion for his profession and an equal determination to avoid even an iota of personal information. He’d _also_ taken note of the openly worn quiver and hunting bow as opposed to the discrete pockets that could conceal any manner of nastiness. A man of contradictions, was this Nicolò...

How intriguing. Joe couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a mortal quite so interesting.)

As their group made themselves comfortable in the little clearing Booker had discovered, Joe kept half an eye on Nicolò, whose safety they were, after all, responsible for. The man settled himself firmly on the fringes of the group, close enough to speak to, but far enough away that the distance was obvious, especially compared to the rest of the group’s easy sprawl.

Nile had perched herself atop one of the stump seats, while Booker leaned up against her shins, while Andy and Quynh tangled ankles together at another pair of the carven stumps. Joe himself was slumped down within easy reach of both Booker and Nile’s feet, though they were all currently pretending to be too dignified to get into a kicking war. Even though deciding which bit of the supplies they’d eat first was a serious business, and Joe was definitely going to reconsider that kicking ban if they didn’t all get a share of the dried fruit, _Booker_.

In contrast, Nicolò’s straight backed seat on the furthest of the clustered stumps, almost halfway across the clearing, only served to further set him apart, and Joe had to bite back a frown. The urge only intensified as Nicolò began rummaging in the bushes near his seat, eventually producing a handful of cranberries that he began to eat, supplemented with a small bit of bread from his pack.

The good people of Comstock had bartered _more_ than enough food for all of them- in fact, Andy had actually had to turn some of it down lest they be unable to carry it all. Certainly, they had enough for Nicolò as well as themselves, and Joe would be more than willing to share his portion even if they didn’t. There was absolutely no reason for the man to be on famine rations, and even if there had been, there was rationing and then there was... whatever Nicolò was doing, which seemed likely to result in their bodyguardee collapsing of hunger long before they actually reached their destination. Joe’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before he slapped an inquiring smile on instead, leaning forward to address Nicolò.

“That isn’t all you plan to eat, right? We still have a long time before nightfall, and I can assure you, Andy will march us hard and long in that time. It wouldn’t be good if you fainted, she’ll just make one of us carry you rather than do anything as plebeian as _stop_ or _wait_.” He said, making sure to keep his voice friendly with only an edge of teasing. Andy snorted, but didn’t deny it.

Nicolò looked surprisingly unbothered as he shrugged. “This will do for now. I planned to see if I could do a bit of hunting later, though it sounds like that might be a bit hard if you intend for us to continue marching until nightfall. Perhaps I could lay out some traps overnight instead?” He mused, half to himself. “Or just shoot a rabbit or two as we walk... that might work...”

Before Nicolò could get too lost in his thoughts, Joe coughed, and held out the parcel of jerky and hard cheese he’d been eating from. “Or you could just eat your share of the provisions.” He suggested, perhaps a little harsher than he’d meant to sound. “I really do not want to have to haul your unconscious body for however many miles it takes for Andy to take pity on me.”

“You will not need to carry me.” Nicolò countered, almost obnoxiously calm. “I am accustomed to surviving on very little. This is more than sufficient for me.”

Joe frowned. That hadn’t really been his point at all. Before he could continue to argue, Quynh interrupted.

“You hunt with that bow?” She asked, leaning forward, eyes sharp. “Are you any good?”

Nicolò turned to her with a smile, seemingly less bothered by having his skills questioned than by someone expressing a measure of concern for him. Joe’s frown deepened.

“I consider myself a fair shot, certainly enough to keep myself fed.” Nicolò replied, still smiling. Did he ever _stop_? One hand dropped to his side, resting lightly on the quiver that hung there. “Your bow appears very finely made, surely the work of a master of the craft?”

Quynh smirked. “Oh, most definitely.” She’d made it herself, after all. Though to Joe’s less than perfect eye Nicolò’s own bow looked very nice as well. Maybe less decorated than Quynh’s own, but still well made. “You’ve got a good eye... Care for a little wager?”

Centuries of experience sent shivers down Joe’s spine at that tone, and he had to fight not to twitch away. Nile and Booker leaned back warily as well, while Andy simply looked amused. Nicolò, for his part, merely looked interested- the poor fool.

“I do enjoy a good bet.” He said, eyebrows quirked questioningly. “What are your terms?”

Quynh caressed her own bow, smirk widening. “Whoever can shoot the most prey before supper wins.”

Nicolò nodded slowly. “Stakes?”

Quynh pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I’ll wager a story you’ve never heard before.” She finally offered. “Whatever that’s worth to you is what you’ll have to bet as a match.”

Nicolò gave her another smile, this one small and almost secretive. “You would have me offer my life, then.” His relaxed mien belied the gravity of his words. He tilted his head. “Perhaps instead I can wager a secret you don’t know?”

“But what happens if I already know it?” Quynh sipped from her water flask, eyeing Nicolò with eyes like a hawk’s.

“And if I have already heard your story?” Nicolò countered, still smiling, still unruffled.

Quynh scoffed. “You won’t.”

“We will see.” Nicolò said, perfectly calm. He stood and pulled his bow in one swift motion, producing an arrow with a flick of a hand. Joe suppressed a corresponding twitch for his own weapons at the speed with which Nicolò had drawn his. Nicolò’s movements were practiced and easy in a way that spoke of a potential for violence that made Joe’s instincts sing, despite the calm that never left his face. “Shall we?”

Quynh’s mouth curved in a smile Joe recalled seeing on more than one particularly bloody battlefield, drawing her own short bow with a flourish. “Yes. We shall.”

Joe exchanged a brief look with Nile, the only other of their group sensible enough to be concerned by that glint in Quynh’s eyes, and resolved to step in if things started getting out of hand. And he was sure they would. Things generally did, when Quynh and competition existed in the same space.

Spinning an arrow through her fingers, Quynh sauntered back towards the road. Nicolò followed, footsteps whisper silent on the grass. Neither seemed to notice the rest of the group wasn’t following. Joe chuckled softly to himself, and began packing up the food, since apparently it was time to move on.

Andy rolled her eyes and pushed off the stump with a sigh. “Let’s get moving, then.” The twist of her mouth was all amusement and fondness, though, despite the exasperation in her voice.

Booker grunted, standing and turning to offer Nile a hand up. “I’m just saying this now, I’m _not_ cleaning any kills they make. Those two can figure that out themselves.” Nile nodded in agreement, and Joe snorted a little.

“That will last as long as it takes Quynh to pout at you.” He teased. Booker glared at him. Nile chuckled.

“He’s got you there.” They were all a little weak when it came to Quynh, these days. Booker especially was wrapped around their older sister’s fingers, and they all knew it.

It didn’t take long to catch up to the two archers, who for all their fire had taken to a somewhat meandering pace down the road. Joe had to raise an impressed eyebrow when he spotted the waxed canvas bag Nicolò had produced from somewhere, which was already showing signs of being filled with the game Nicolò had shot.

“That didn’t take long.” He observed, smiling a little. Nicolò smiled back, dissonantly serene even as he knocked another arrow, letting it fly towards some unseen target. It connected with the slick thud of a sharp object sliding into flesh, and with a nod, Nicolò slipped off to retrieve his felled prey. Joe turned to Quynh, a teasing comment already on the tip of his tongue, and paused. Her eyes were dark and narrowed as she watched Nicolò walk away, and Joe had to wince as his gut twinged, all too familiar with that look- it was the way Quynh eyed up an enemy’s back, hand ready for a knife.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/192457118@N06/51022991763/)

“Quynh?” He murmured, softly enough that it should be lost amidst their footsteps.

“He’s matching me, arrow for arrow.” She muttered back. Joe’s eyebrows shot up, before furrowing in thought. Quynh was, bar none, the best archer he’d ever seen. To match her, even in a contest as simple as hunting game, was no mean feat.

“Should I be concerned?” Joe didn’t bother specifying for whom.

Quynh smirked, eyes lightening. “Oh no.” She nocked an arrow and let it fly in one smooth motion, never even looking. “For me, at least.”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head, and went to retrieve the squirrel she’d just shot. He passed by Nicolò as they went, sharing a brief nod before Nicolò vanished into the brush once more. The longer this escort mission went, the more questions Joe had, and for all that Nicolò life’s work was the sharing of information, it didn’t seem likely they’d get any answers from him.

Joe passed off the dead rodent to Booker, who stowed it in the bag he’d somehow been conned into carrying in the thirty seconds Joe had been gone. He glanced over at Andy, raising an eyebrow, and received a tiny nod in return. He grinned, and sped up to walk next to Nicolò, newly returned from his foray off the road and sporting several rabbits dangling from one hand for his efforts. Joe held out a hand for the bag. Nicolò tilted his head to the side in silent question.

“Quynh got Booker to carry her bag, it only seemed fair to offer you the same.” Joe said, smiling charmingly. Nicolò hummed, seeming to think it over for a long moment, before finally inching his head and passing the bag off into Joe’s waiting grasp. It was heavy, and Joe felt his eyes widen for a moment in surprise. Nicolò gave him a small smile, having caught the brief moment of expression.

“I appreciate your commitment to fair play,” was all he said, though, and Joe found himself smiling back, almost without noticing.

“Not that you seem to need it. You shoot very well.” He complimented, fishing, perhaps a bit too unsubtly for the reason a librarian could keep pace with an immortal warrior. Unfortunately, Nicolò simply inclined his head and shrugged.

“I do the best I can. It’s kept me and a few others fed in leaner times.” Then, that same swift motion- arrow to string, string pulled taught, and arrow loosed, with the same result as last time. With another nod, Nicolò moved away to retrieve the arrow and whatever bit of prey he’d shot, though at least now Joe had guaranteed that Nicolò would return to him (he ignored the pleased tone his thoughts took at that). And indeed, a few minutes later Nicolò fell back in step, passing Joe a squirrel which he dutifully stowed.

“Who’s going to clean and cook all of this?” Joe grumbled, only half joking.

They could all cook to some extent, but this many small mammals without so much as a cutting board was a little rougher than he liked, while Nile and Booker were sadly children of the post-industrial times and didn’t always know what to do when confronted with a still furry corpse. Quynh, he knew from experience, would insist that she’d already done the hard part and someone else could surely manage the rest. Andy might do wonders with a stick and a campfire, but also the only time Andy got near the food was when everyone else wasn’t able to stop her. Generally because of death, dismemberment, or in one particularly memorable case, a tax dispute. Healing (and tax law) was hungry work, and Joe was fairly certain Andy could have boiled a shoe and they would have eaten it just as gladly.

“We are amassing quite the haul.” Nicolò agreed. “Perhaps the more onerous bits of hunting should have been the stakes of the bet... Think Quynh would agree to renegotiate the terms?” He threw Joe a sidelong glance, full of amusement, and Joe had to chuckle even as he shook his head.

“Quynh only offers bets when she wins even if she loses, and that is a bet that she would never be willing to lose.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Quynh said, sweet and sing-song even as an arrow flew by his head and skewered a fat partridge. Unbothered, Joe simply spun on one foot to face her and grinned, continuing to keep pace with Nicolò.

“That would be the point of saying it, yes.” He agreed, walking backwards as they continued on. Quynh rolled her eyes, lips pursing in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a smile. Joe snickered under his breath as the others laughed. He was gratified to hear even Nicolò give an almost silent huff of a chuckle at the byplay, and swayed ever so slightly closer, ears straining to catch even the slightest hint of emotion beyond the calm Nicolò had so adamantly displayed.

Suddenly, Quynh’s lips curved into a sly smirk. Joe raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask, reality ensued in the form of an errant tree root rising from the ground and catching the back of his heel, staggering him. Arms pinwheeling, Joe could already feel himself falling, pulled even further off balance by the weight of Nicolò’s game bag on his shoulder. He winced and closed his eyes, preparing to hit the ground hard (and endure the teasing this moment of clumsiness was sure to bring upon his head), when suddenly instead of rocks he felt strong arms against his back and shoulders, catching him within a blink. Joe opened his eyes slowly, and found Nicolò peering down at him, a concerned frown finally taking the place of that ever present smile.

“Joe, are you alright?”

Joe blinked dumbly before his reason asserted itself and he scrambled upright, carefully and deliberately turning to face forward. Nicolò let him go as soon as it was clear that Joe had his feet beneath him, and Joe determinedly ignored the lingering warmth of his arms, so nearly in an embrace around him. He had to clear his throat several times before he could find the breath to speak, never mind that Nicolò had caught him fae to gently for the wind to have been knocked out of him.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Joe offered, finally, and Nicolò offered a smile. Somehow, Joe liked that smile more than the ones previous, even if they were objectively the same.

“I’m glad.” Nicolò said warmly, and gestured at the game bag, somehow still on Joe’s shoulder. “Though perhaps I should take that? It will only get heavier from here and we should pick up the pace, especially if we want to make it to a good place to camp before nightfall.”

Joe... didn’t have a reason to disagree, and so he passed the bag back. Nicolò took it, slinging it easily on his back next to his other packs, not even slightly bothered by the weight as he balanced the loads. Glancing back at Andy, Nicolò gestured at the road ahead. “There’s a clearing with a stone ring for campfires about seven miles down the road. If we go at a good pace, we should get there before dusk falls.” He offered, and Andy nodded.

“Sounds good.”

Nicolò smiled. “I’ll meet you there, then. I also need to pick up the pace if I’ve any hope of winning the wager, after all.” He gave them a nod, and before any of them could think to object, melted away into the trees.

There was a long pause. “Aren’t we meant to be guarding him?” Booker finally asked.

“Yes. Yes we are.” Andy sighed and nodded to Quynh. “We’ll leave the tracking to you. You know where to find us, I guess.” Quynh laughed cheerfully, and followed Nicolò off the road, leaving the rest of them behind.

“Let’s get moving. Quynh will keep him out of trouble and I want to reach that camping site before dark.” Andy ordered, setting a much brisker pace as she strode away, Nile and Booker falling into step.

Shaking his head, Joe started walking again. A client practically running away from his guards... Nicolò truly was a strange one, in ways that had nothing to do with whatever secrets he held.

Joe only hoped that he was prepared to give one up. Quynh was hardly going to _lose_ , after all.

* * *

“You cheated!” Quynh’s glare was a fearsome thing, and yet Nicolò met her fury with only a placid blink, hands never wavering from where he was skinning one of his catch.

“Pray tell how I managed such a feat?” He inquired, smiling. “You were there with me each step of the way. You saw each hit and miss. How could I possibly have altered the outcome in any way?”

“You had to have! No one matches me, and you made every shot I did- and every _miss_ too!”

Quynh looked ready to lunge across the fire and smother Nicolò with his own game bag and with it the source of Quynh’s fury. For spread out in front of the two were veritable mountains of prey, of the exactly the same count and makeup, Nicolò’s offerings a perfect match for Quynh’s. In other words, they had tied their bet- and it was sounding more and more like Nicolò had done it on purpose, Joe noted with intrigue and no small amount of amusement.

“Oops.” Nicolò offered, voice perfectly even. Quynh snarled. Joe prepared himself to intercede- he didn’t really want to deal with Quynh shooting a client _again_ \- when Quynh abruptly threw her bow to the side and sat down, arms crossed and mouth twisted mulishly.

“Don’t think you’ll get out of it that easily. You managed to tie me, _this time_. Next time I’ll beat you _and_ how you did it out of you. It’s only because you promised to cook I’m letting it go, _for now._ ” Quynh hissed, eyes narrowing ominously.

Nicolò just smiled and pulled Quynh’s pile over to his side of the fire. “I look forward to it.” Was all he said, before turning all of his attention to the process of turning the pile of dead animals into food.

Several hours of work later, even Quynh had to admit it was the best stew she’d ever tasted.

For Joe’s part, he was even more gratified by the sparkle in Nicolò’s eyes as he sat by the fire, sharing the fruits of his labor with everyone crowded close around him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two Weeks Later_

The metal beads chimed softly as they slipped through his fingers, lips moving silently as he let each one fall, the motions much the same as the rosary he’d once prayed. The thought made Nicky chuckle softly, even as his lips continued to mouth along to the words flowing through his mind. This was no rosary- no, it was something far more enduring, and far more important than one man’s faithless prayer. 

“You pray a lot.” The voice did not startle him. It’s owner had made no secret of their approach, after all. Raising his eyes, he found Joe looking at him curiously. 

Nicky wouldn’t admit it, but he’d found himself... intrigued by Joe as well. The whole group, really, but for some reason, Joe caught his attention no matter how hard Nicky tried to ignore it. He seemed... familiar, almost, like he was someone Nicky had never been able to quite forget, no matter how hard he tried. Even though Nicky was certain they’d never met before. It was the smile, he thought. It was such a familiar smile.

In fact, that smile was trained on him now, lips that quirked up so charmingly even as Joe trained that inquisitive gaze on him.

Nicky smiled back. ”Oh?” 

“I see you with those beads, whispering to yourself, all the time. When we’re walking, when we’re resting, even sometimes when we’re eating. They are first thing in your hands in the morning and the last thing you look at each night. Two weeks we’ve been traveling, and I don’t think I’ve seen you without them once.” 

Nicky blinked at him, a little taken aback by the depth of observation Joe was admitting to so easily. But he did not show the surprise, only blinked again, slow and deliberate. “And?” He could just explain, but he rather wanted to know where Joe was going with this. 

“Nothing, really. Just, you did not strike me as someone so devout. You didn’t seem interested in Nile and Andy’s discussion of religion the other day.” Joe shrugged, and Nicky allowed his smile to widen. 

“And my devoutness is something that concerns you?” He couldn’t help but tease, just a little. 

Joe shrugged again, raising his eyebrows. “Not really. It just seemed a bit strange to me. It’s not often I meet a man who prays so much without something to drive it.” He leaned forward, eyes intent. “So I couldn’t help but wonder, what is driving you?”

Ah, so that was it. Joe was wondering about Nicky’s demons- and how he might strive to keep them at bay. Nicky couldn’t help the smile that twisted on the corners of his lips as he met Joe’s eyes, but Joe’s face remained serious. Clearly the other man was disinclined to allow Nicky to distract from the topic at hand. He relaxed his fingers, the beads puddling in his lap like water. “I do not pray.” Nicky corrected. “And this is no rosary.” Nicky did have demons in his past- Nicky himself was one of them, but he did not use prayer to keep them at bay. 

Once, he had been as dedicated as Joe described- once, he _had_ thought prayer could bring him the answers he sought. 

That had been a long, long time ago. These days, Nicky had better things to devote his time to. Joe’s eyebrows quirked questioningly. “Oh?” The man prompted.

“You know librarians keep their libraries in their heads, yes? Well, how do you suppose we manage it?” Nicky tilted his head. Joe frowned, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Nicky watched him think for a long moment, before patting the ground next to him in invitation. 

Joe took a seat. “How _do_ you manage it? You told Nile before that you worked with other librarians to fact check, but that doesn’t explain how you actually manage to remember it in the first place.” 

“It’s a difficult task, admittedly.” Nicky smiled modestly. “It requires years of instruction and preparation to train our minds to the task. It’s not for everyone, certainly, but over the years, we’ve developed some ways to make it easier. The beads are one such trick, a memory aid.” He held them out for Joe, who took them, carefully running them between his fingers. 

“I don’t see anything on them. They just look like beads.” Joe murmured. Nicky shook his head, chuckling. 

“They are. That’s actually the point. They don’t have any value except to me, so no one would bother stealing them.” He explained. “But in my hands, I can use the associations they bring to call up the words I need, sentences and paragraphs and pages until I have the whole book in my mind, ready to recite.” 

It wasn’t quite as simple as he made it sound- to become a librarian required a mental discipline difficult to acquire, but the basic concept was sound. Nicky freely admitted, if only to himself, that without centuries of practice where he had only his memory to rely on, he wouldn’t have been able to manage it. In his opinion, it only made those who managed it without his shortcut all the more impressive. 

“It’s not the only trick we have, but it is an important one.” He continued. “Mental exercises can only take one so far- by adding physical cues, we increase our recall and deepen our abilities. We all have our preferences- some pace, or dance, or sing. I like the beads myself because it’s something I’m familiar with.” He held out a hand, and Joe passed them back with an impressed twist of his mouth. 

Nicky knew his own smile was bright with pride and excitement at this chance to share his work- his purpose. He couldn’t help it- there weren’t many things he was proud of, but the system of librarians was one of them. In fact, he might even go so far as to say it was the best thing he’d ever done. In the millennium he’d walked the earth he’d tread many dark paths, but the librarians...They were perhaps the greatest good he had ever done. 

An immortal’s knowledge, turned into a library to be shared with every mortal who cared to listen. 

“I could demonstrate, if you like?” Nicky offered, and smiled at the eager nod Joe gave in reply. 

“For example...” Nicky rolled a bead between his thumb and forefinger and began to recite a poem he’d heard once, long ago in another land. It was one of his favorites, having engraved itself in his memory long before he’d even considered actively memorizing everything he could get his hands on, and all the more special to him for it.

* * *

Listening to Nicolò explain how one librarian could serve as an entire repository unto themselves, all Joe could do was raise his eyebrows and shake his head. He was truly impressed, not only by the skills of the librarians themselves, but the passion Nicolò displayed for his cause.

Joe had always rather admired librarians, honestly- even when they got things wrong. They were doing their best, after all. Quynh thought they were noble idiots, but then again, Quynh thought that their _own_ crew was mostly composed of noble idiots (excepting Andy, of course- even when she was the one leading them on hopeless quests for noble causes). Andy was suspicious of them, but Andy was always suspicious of new institutions- the only thing that made the librarians noteworthy was their status as simultaneously a new and very, very old profession. _Bards_ , of all things, were not the profession Joe had ever expected to return in the post-flare landscape, but he rather liked it. Andy, on the other hand… 

(Andy had had a fun little rant about bards a few centuries ago that Quynh had then paid a bard to set to song. Joe was almost positive he remembered the tune, and the source of the lyrics was right there… Joe hid a smirk and made a mental note to prod Andy later- from a safe distance, of course. Quynh would help him out, he was sure.)

Booker and Nile, Joe suspected, didn’t think of the librarians much before, if at all. Nile had grown up with all the knowledge of the world at her fingertips, and if even Booker hadn’t been a child of the information age, he’d certainly adopted it as his own. To them, the struggles of preserving knowledge, lest it be lost forever, were long in the past- until history found itself repeating, of course. 

Joe shook himself from his thoughts, somewhat embarrassed to have let his mind wander so while Nicolò was still speaking. It was rude, and besides, he was actually interested. It was only that Nicolò’s voice was soothing, and the poetry he was reciting so rhythmic, that it rather encouraged the listener’s mind to relax and wander as it willed. 

Forcing his attention outwards once more, Joe was gratified that it hadn’t been too long- perhaps only a stanza or two had gone by while Joe’s mind wandered. Nicolò’s voice rose and fell like the rain, pattering so gently against his ears it took a moment for Joe to parse out the words. When he did, it took every ounce of control he’d ever developed to keep from freezing.

The words falling from Nicolo’s mouth like stones polished in the river of his voice... Joe _knew_ them. He’d _written them!_ To be certain, translation had muddied the waters, but the longer Nicolò spoke, the more Joe could hear the underlying intent, the words he’d once thought long lost returned to him now, new life breathed into them by their new speaker.

“Where did you learn that?” It took a long moment for Joe to realize the hoarse voice interrupting Nicolò was him. Nicolò trailed off, blinked slowly at him, lips curling down in concern. Joe swallowed roughly, trying to clear his throat. 

“Where- how did you find that poem?” He finally managed to ask. Joe had long resigned himself to the loss of his art- his mind was no librarian’s, to hold close every word and every brushstroke, and paper was so fragile, so easily destroyed. To an immortal, everything was ephemeral eventually. Some things were just... more so. 

But Joe had always regretted his inability to recreate that poem, penned in the moments his emotions got the better of him, his dreams and love and longing spilling across parchment almost faster than the ink could wet his quill. He’d only been able to recite it once, practically to himself, before unfortunate circumstances tore it from his grasp. 

To hear it now, from Nicolò’s mouth...

“Please, I must know.” For once Joe was grateful the rest of his family had left he and Nicolò alone to tend the fire while they went about foraging for berries and nuts to supplement their dinner. This was the kind of moment he needed to bear alone, first.

(The fact that Nicolò was there when his family was not, that he was alright with that, hardly seemed to register. Somehow, it seemed natural, even beyond the fact that Nicolò had been the one to recite it for him. But that was a mystery for later. The mystery of Nicolò came first.)

Nicolò blinked at him. “One of the founders of our order. He contributed it to the web and it’s been carried down faithfully ever since, though I believe he said it originated in a book about poems once thought lost to time, though I’m afraid no one knows the author for that exact reason.” He sounded faintly apologetic, though Joe didn’t know why. “The translation is mine, though- the original piece was in Arabic, actually.” 

Joe nodded slowly, mind whirling. “You translate beautifully.” He complimented. Nicolò was truly a man of many talents...

Including lying. 

The only copy of that poem he’d ever penned had been lost in a fire, centuries ago. Joe didn’t know how Nicolò could possibly know it, but he knew this for certain-

He hadn’t gotten it from a book.

* * *

The air this morning was tense- tenser than warranted, in Nicky’s humble opinion. Though they’d made good time these last two weeks, that only meant they’d reached the edge of the somewhat more trafficked areas of the lightly wooded plains even faster. The denser forests that edged the Great Lakes loomed ahead, a haven for bandits.

...Or at least, so claimed the good people of Comstock and the surrounding villages. Nicky himself was skeptical- he traveled through these areas often enough, and had yet to encounter much more trouble than occasional difficulty from the wildlife. Black bears could be surprisingly aggressive when stocking up for winter, and anything gone rabid was something of a nightmare to deal with, but even so those were rare dangers. They were hardly worth the wariness that had coiled into every muscle of his companions. 

Nicky had been shuffled to the center of the little group some time ago, much to his discomfort. Nile had offered him a distracted smile, clearly misinterpreting it for worry, before returning to scanning the road ahead. They walked in silence for what felt like eons, though it couldn’t have been longer than a few hours.

“The path will become much more winding and less maintained from here.” Nicky finally spoke up, breaking the tense hush. “Not many travel this way, and even fewer live here anymore, so we must be careful. I expect we won’t be able to make it as far in a day as we have, which is unfortunate.” 

“You in a hurry all of a sudden?” Booker drawled. 

Nicky shrugged. “I’m not concerned. I know the journey well, and planned for my departure accordingly. If anything, I’m more concerned for you, having to go so far out of your way for me.”

“That’s the job we were paid for, and so that’s the job we’ll do.” Andy said brusquely, and Nicky inclined his head in a short nod. 

“I meant no disparagement, only that I know jobs will be difficult for you to find once our contract comes to an end.” 

“We’ll find something. We always do.” Was Quynh’s contribution to the conversation. 

Nicky had his doubts about that too; not many people traveled this way, and he knew most of them. They wouldn’t be in the market for anything a mercenary group offered, but that wasn’t his business, and so he didn’t comment, instead choosing to turn his eyes to the front- and to Joe’s back, marching ahead of them, shoulders drawn tight. The man hadn’t spoken a single word to him other than the most basic of pleasantries since the poem Nicky had recited a few nights ago. Nicky didn’t know what had been so offensive about his performance- he’d only ever gotten pleased reactions when he chose to speak that poem, its passionate words striking his listeners’ hearts much as it had his, so long ago. 

He’d thought at first it had been the same with Joe, though his reaction had been one of the stronger ones, and so this sudden cold shoulder was... surprising, to say the least. 

(Nicky ignored the little voice in the back of his mind insisting that it was _painful_. Joe had gone out of his way to draw Nicky out of the shell he’d so carefully crafted, and Nicky... Nicky had let him, without even really knowing why, only knowing that it had felt right. It had felt right to choose that poem, the first words Nicky had ever treasured in their own right, for their own beauty rather than any higher purpose they might have conveyed, when showing Joe what it meant to him to be a librarian. He’d thought Joe would like it, and it seemed he had- which only made the silence ever since hurt all the more.)

“So, if no one lives out here... Why are you heading out here?” Nile asked from Nicky’s elbow. She’d taken over shadowing him when Joe had stopped speaking to Nicky, and for all that Nicky appreciated her company, it left a sour taste in his mouth now. 

“Some do live here, just not many. Certainly not communities like Comstock or Ord.” Nicky corrected. 

Nile just gave him an unimpressed look. It seemed avoiding the question wasn’t going to happen, which left him only one option. 

“Matters of a personal nature, and that’s all I will say, I’m afraid.” Nicky said, tone final. Was it suspicious sounding? Absolutely. Was it necessary? Unfortunately so. The librarians only met up every five years, because travel was arduous, and they did so in secret, because gatherings could be dangerous. 

Not everyone was as welcoming of their presence or their ideals as the people of Comstock, after all, and a large gathering of librarians would be all too tempting a target for those that wanted to wipe them- and the knowledge they carried- from this earth. 

As such, Nicky couldn’t afford to tell anyone, even his companions where he was going or why, no matter how suspicious it appeared. 

And suspicious they were; he could see as much in the glances they shared when they thought he wasn’t looking. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it, so he just kept walking. The rest of the day passed in silence, and Nicky found himself retiring for the night even earlier than normal, just for a reprieve from the tension hanging in the air. For the first time in the whole trip, he tucked his quiver- and the sword it concealed- next to his head, hand curling around the hidden hilt, in readiness for anything that might happen while he slept.

Sleep came slowly, but come it did, though he knew from experience it would be light, and less restful. 

That was the price to pay for vigilance, and vigilance was always the price to pay for keeping secrets. Nicky knew so better than most. 

It was with these thoughts he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

“Alright, I’m just gonna say it. Copley vibes all over the place today.” Nile finally broke the silence that had fallen over the group as they waited for Nicolò to fall asleep.

Joe’s forehead furrowed, but he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. Andy grunted. 

“Thought we were done with that, especially now.” She grumbled, scowling darkly. 

“He put on a pretty good show of not actually wanting us if that’s the case though...” Booker interjected. “Seems like he would have just hired us himself if he’d wanted to pull a full on Copley. Gives him more control over the situation. A lot of variables in all this, especially since he couldn’t have known where we were going.” 

Andy hummed thoughtfully. 

“I say just kill him and be done with it. It’s not like anyone’s going to know or care.” Quynh offered, shrugging. 

Nile raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked him.” 

Quynh practically growled. “No I don’t! He cheated, and the only reason I’m keeping him alive is to find out how!” 

That got a laugh out of all of them. Quynh glared, but Joe could see her lips twitching. With that, the tension eased somewhat, giving them all a little room to breath. From the other side of the fire, Nicolò sighed in his sleep and rolled over a little.

They all fell silent, watching him the way most people would watch a coiled snake, but when all he did was sigh again, clearly still asleep, Joe let himself relax. 

“I agree with Nile. A few days ago, he offered to give me a demonstration of what a librarian does, and recited a poem.” He paused, biting his lip. “The poem he recited was a translation of one I wrote and then lost in a fire, several centuries ago. I don’t know how he got it, but certainly it brings to mind Mr. Copley’s... work.” 

“Oh great, another creepy ass stalker board?” Nile groaned quietly. “I thought we were done with that when the internet stopped being a thing.”

“He didn’t suggest he knew the author was me.” Joe offered, doing his best to ensure every angle was covered. “In fact, he explicitly said the author was unknown, a poem passed down from one of the founders of his order, though I doubt his statement of how that founder acquired knowledge of it.” 

“Doesn’t mean anything, he could be lying.” Andy dismissed. “Alright. Threat assessment. What do we know?”

“Really good with a bow.” Nile offered. Quynh scowled, but didn’t dispute it. 

“Doesn’t like to talk about himself.” Was Booker’s contribution. “Very mysterious. Motives unknown.”

“Cooks well.” Quynh allowed grudgingly. “What?” She snapped when they all raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s relevant!” 

Andy smiled for a moment, before turning to Joe and tilting her head. “Passionate about his work and definitely not lying about that, at least. He knows too much and can demonstrate it to not have actually worked with the other librarians.” He offered. Andy nodded. 

“Didn’t actually seem to want to hire us.” Booker added again. 

“He cared about the people.” Joe murmured. When they all turned to him, he elaborated. “He didn’t want them to have to pay, possibly more than they could afford, just to protect him. He cared.” 

And that really was what it came down to, wasn’t it? Nicolò _cared_. He’d cared for the people of Comstock more than he’d been concerned for his own well being. He’d cared enough to cook for them almost every night, even when he’d barely said a word to them. He cared about the whole world, it seemed, a librarian on a one man mission to preserve the past and educate the future. 

But was it enough to be sure that he was not a trap?

Joe didn’t know. 

Fortunately, it wasn’t his decision. 

“Boss?” He asked quietly. “Your call.” Andy wouldn’t order them to kill an unarmed man, fast asleep. If she was the type of person to do that, they wouldn’t trust her with this. But if she chose to abort the mission, they would follow. 

“Wait and see.” Andy decided finally. “Be ready for anything, but let’s not write him off yet.”

“And if it is a trap?” Booker asked.

“Then we’ll take care of it. I’m not being hunted again.” 

They all nodded as one. 

Sleep didn’t come easily that night.

* * *

The next day, if Nicolò noticed the tension, he certainly didn’t act like it. Walking along with them in the shade of the trees, he looked almost relaxed, if not for the shadows under his eyes, deep and dark. Joe fell back, falling into step with him for the first time in days.

“Bad night?”

Nicolò still managed to smile for him. “My sleep is often restless.” He admitted. “Even when I do fall asleep, it doesn’t give me any relief.”

“And last night was one of those times?” Joe asked, wary. Had Nicolò heard their conversation? If so, shouldn’t he have reacted, if ony to Quynh’s suggestion they kill him?

“I slept the night through, but dreams gave me no rest.” Nicolò nodded. “Don’t worry, I have suffered worse. I won’t slow you down.” 

Joe suppressed an eye roll at that. 

“After all,” Nicolò continued, smile turning teasing. “I would hate to make you carry me after all.” 

The bark of laughter surprised even Joe. “My back thanks you.” He returned. Nicolò’s smile widened. 

This time, the silence between them was comfortable. 

He seemed so relaxed and at peace, despite his own admission of a restless night, walking next to Joe as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Surely, surely he could not be history repeating itself, the secrets they had never been able to keep coming home to roost again? 

Surely, Nicolò was just as good a man as he seemed?

Caught up in his thoughts, Joe let his mind wander. For years, he would wander if he’d been paying attention if it would have changed anything. 

But right now, all he knows is that there is an arrow sprouting from Booker’s throat and a shout of “Ambush!” On Nile’s lips. All he knows is betrayal, and he turns, whether to defend himself from the bandits pouring from the trees or to turn on Nicolò, who must have led them here-

And sees a man with a hunting rifle, polished barrel gleaming in the shadows, taking aim at him. Too close to dodge, Joe only has a second to brace-

And a body is colliding with him, a call of “Joe!” Half wheezed, as Nicolò throws his entire weight against Joe’s side, knocking him off balance-

And then the rifle goes off, and Joe can’t see anything except the mist of blood hazing the air where he’d just been standing. There’s a thud of a body hitting the ground, but Joe can’t look, can’t think, can’t process that right now because the man is reloading, and how does he even have a gun, Joe has seen barely a handful in the last fifty years! But that’s not important right now. 

Joe’s scimitar still slides from the sheathe as easily as it ever did, and after that, it’s just going through the motions. The man dies before he ever chambers another bullet, and the rest of the troop follows. 

In the aftermath, they regroup. Andy is unscathed as ever, only a few splatters of blood across her cheeks to signal anything even happened. Quynh is likewise unaffected, while poor Nile looked as if an artery had erupted all over her- not unlikely, when one considers their youngest’s predilection for knives in close quarters. Booker, of course, is collapsed on the ground, body fighting to expel an arrow Joe can now see has a barbed head and is resisting every effort to push it out. He doesn’t look at the body laying behind him. 

With a tired sigh, Andy broke off the arrow head, yanking the shaft out in one swift jerk. Booker gasped back to life in the next instant, eyes flying open. 

“What happened?”

“Ambush.” Andy said grimly. “Guess we were right.” 

Except, no, that’s not... 

“He pushed me out of the way of a bullet.” Joe choked out. 

They all fell silent. 

“What?”

Joe gestured at the body, the body he still couldn’t quite look at. He’d been suspicious of Nicolò, that was true, but he’d never wanted this. He’d wanted answers for his questions, even suspected less than savory ends, but not... 

Not this. Not like this. 

“So... not a Copley repeat then.” Booker summed up. Joe shook his head.

“Well, shit. Now what?” Joe glared, but it was half hearted. 

“Bury him and keep going. We’ll tell Marcus what happened when we next end up back there.” Andy said. The bandits, Joe was viciously pleased to note, got no such consideration. 

It took a moment for Joe to turn back to Nicolò’s body, and his hesitation did not go unnoticed. At the other’s quizzical glances, he could only shrug. Death was an old friend to all of them, and he didn’t know why this one man’s death was so much harder than all the others. Perhaps it was because, despite all the tension and mistrust along the way, when cards were on the table Nicolò had died for him, without hesitation or cause. It had been a long, long time since anyone had bothered to take a blow for Joe- his family knew that he would survive until he didn’t, and anyone else... well, Joe was the one taking the blows for his clients. 

For Nicolò to so suddenly reverse that trend... It ached. 

Finally laying eyes on Nicolò, Joe had to hide a wince. Death was no stranger, but even so, the bullet had not been a kind death for the man, his face and neck ravaged from the force. And yet...

Joe frowned. And yet, there was something... off, about the wounds. Blood gleamed fresh and wet across ruined skin, testament to how recently he had died, and yet the wounds themselves looked... older. Almost... Almost as if they were healing, despite the fact that there was no way for Nicolò to have survived. Around him, he could hear the others discussing how they might bury him, with no shovels and the forest ground hard with roots and rocks, and yet, just faintly, beneath their voices, he could hear...

Bones ground against each other, flesh sucking wetly as skin regrew. Collapsed against the earth, Nicolò took a breath, and it echoed in Joe’s ears like a thunderclap. Ever so slowly, the man levered himself up onto his elbows, almost unnoticed except for Joe. 

“Boss?” Joe called tensely. 

“What?” She snapped back from a little ways away, voice ringing strangely. 

“You need to come see this.” Footsteps crunched in the leaves. A sharp intake of breath. 

“You mean to tell me...” 

On the ground, the freshly revived corpse of Nicolò the librarian blinked, looked up, and met Joe’s eyes. 

“Oh.” He said, ever so faintly. 

Joe needed to sit down. 

“Another one? So soon?” Andy murmured, barely audible over the rushing in his head. 

“Hey, this means I’m not the youngest!” Nile whooped. 

And on the ground, Nicolò kept staring at Joe, who kept staring back. Those ice bright eyes... 

“No...” Joe murmured to himself. “No, that’s not it, is it?” 

Nicolò turned his head, looking around. Taking in the carnage without a flinch. 

“That’s not it at all.” Joe said, louder. “Is it... Nicky?” 

Nicky blinked at them, and began to stand up. Joe stepped forward, extending a hand. After the briefest of pauses, Nicky took it, letting Joe help haul him to his feet. 

“I think we all need to have a talk.” Nicky said, voice steady and unshaken despite the blood still streaking his face and matting his hair. 

“Yes.” Joe agreed, even as pieces began slotting themselves into place. Icy eyes in dreams and a poem that could only have been heard in one place and one time... “Yes, we do.” 

But in that moment, despite having once had questions in the hundreds, all he could think was _’I am not alone, not anymore.’_

* * *

Nicky studied the mercenaries- the _immortals_ , just like him- who faced him over a fire, faces scrubbed clean of viscera and reflecting the shock he barely kept from showing himself.

“You meant to tell me you’ve been around for a thousand years and somehow never met the others?” Nile, who was still the youngest, demanded. 

“Not never.” Joe said slowly. “Just never... long enough for it to mean anything. Never long enough to know.” 

Nicky blinked. “I can’t say any of your faces are familiar to me.” He admitted. 

“Nor yours, mine.” Joe admitted with a wry smile. “But you recited back to me my own poem, one that’s been lost for centuries.” 

Nicky froze. “You mean- the poet in the marketplace-“ The one he’d listened to from the shadows, caught by the fierce longing of his voice and the delicate spiderweb of his words, unable to move or even breathe until he was done. Nicky hadn’t seen his face, but that hadn’t seemed important then, not when his poem had etched every syllable into the deeper parts of Nicky’s soul. Now, that seemed like an oversight. 

Joe’s eyes sparkled. “Was me, yes, though I didn’t know I had such a devoted audience.”

Nicky ducked his head, the tips of his ears warming. “It was a beautiful poem.” He said, unable to be anything but honest. “I liked listening to it very much.” 

Joe’s smile turned warmer. “Thank you. I thought it lost when a fire burned down my lodgings. To think that you saved it in your mind all those years...”

“That is the purpose of a librarian.” Nicky pointed out logically. 

Joe huffed a laugh. “I suppose so...” 

“Then what about the dreams?” Nile wondered. Nicky tilted his head.

“What dreams?” 

“Usually, we immortals dream of each other before meet. It’s how we know to look for them.” Joe explained. “I think I did dream of you, but only faintly and long ago. Which if you heard my poem...”

Nicky frowned, shaking his head. “I have never dreamt of any of you as far as I know. And I have always had vivid dreams.”

“Weird.” Booker muttered. 

Joe hummed in thought. “If you and I could meet and part all unknowing, perhaps it was the same with everyone else?” 

Nicky tilted his head in thought. “It’s possible. I don’t remember everywhere I’ve been or everyone I’ve seen.”

Nile was staring at him. “But I only died for the first time like a hundred years ago! How the hell would we have met without noticing?” She frowned. “Wait- what were you doing in 2020?”

Nicky blinked again. “What everyone else was doing. Staying home.” He paused, then added. “I read a lot in those days.”

Nile snapped her fingers. “You were the book I kept seeing!” He tilted his head. 

“Then what were you?” Because he still didn’t remember ever dreaming of the young woman seated by the fire.

“You said your dreams are always vivid, no?” Joe interjected. “Maybe they just got... lost in the shuffle.” 

Nicky pursed his lips. “Entirely possible.” He allowed. 

“Great, mystery solved.” Quynh sighed, sounding bored. “Now what?” 

Nicky blinked at her. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, are you going to come with us?”

Nicky frowned. “Why would I?”

From the looks on the rest of their faces, this had not occurred to them. Booker shifted uncomfortably.

“Where else would you go?” 

“To Chicago... like I always planned...” Nicky said slowly.

“We’ve always stuck together. Immortals have no one but themselves.” Andy said, voice hard and uncompromising. Nile snorted. 

“Yeah, they actually _kidnapped_ me in the beginning.” She laughed. “It all worked out in the end! I even rescued them!” Nile hastened to assure Nicky, who could only imagine what his face was doing at that. 

“I see...” He said. He did not see. “Nevertheless, I have commitments here that I cannot abandon, regardless of what happened today. I am a librarian first and forever, and that is not something that will ever change.” He reminded them. 

Andy’s jaw clenched tighter, before loosening as Quynh reached out, entwining their fingers. “And what happens when these _commitments_ notice you aren’t aging?” 

Nicky smiled at her. “One day, I will leave on my circuit and I won’t come back. A few years after that my cousin will return, ready to carry on his family’s work, as I did, and my uncle and great uncle before me. Even librarians don’t keep detailed genealogies in this day and age.” 

Andy shook her head in begrudging respect. “You’ve been doing this for a while, huh?”

“Since the beginning.” Nicky agreed serenely. “My first death was something of a blow to my students, but I was gratified to see how they kept going after their founder’s death. Even if they did seem a little too happy for his nephew to return and continue his work.” 

That seemed to shock them more than anything. “And you aren’t... Worried that someone will notice the resemblance?” 

Nicky shrugged. “They haven’t yet. Though even if someone did... who better to keep the secret than those dedicated to the preservation and care of knowledge?”

“They share that knowledge too.” Andy replied, voice sharp enough to cut.

“Only carefully and judiciously, where and when it’s needed. I taught them not only the value of speech, but of silence. They have kept my lessons well- I’ve made sure of it.” Nicky said calmly. “And they will not know of you, even if I am discovered. I, too, know the value of silence.” 

Andy seemed grudgingly satisfied by that. “Fine.” 

“Thank you for your understanding.” That said, Nicky turned away, tucking himself down in his bedroll and closing his eyes, more than ready for the day to be over. The others seemed to agree, for no more comments were made. 

And yet... He found he couldn’t sleep, the words of the poem- Joe’s poem, running through his mind without pause or respite. Hours later, Nicky finally gave up and got up, reaching for the notebook he kept in his pack, for the days even a librarian’s memory failed. By the flickering of the firelight, he bowed his head, and began to write.

* * *

“Time for me to take my leave.” Nicky said early the next morning, as everyone slowly woke.

“What?!” Nile yelped, followed by Booker, and surprisingly, Joe. “You don’t have to leave just cause you won’t be sticking with us! Don’t we still have to escort you to-“

“The outskirts of the old city of Chicago.” Nicky agreed. He gestured at the tree line. “And we have arrived.” 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/192457118@N06/51023822032/)

“Huh. Made better time than I thought. Even with the bandits.” Andy said. 

Nicky smiled. “The contract is fulfilled. I thank you kindly for your time, but now I must leave. I am expected elsewhere.”

“Still not going to tell us why?”

“It’s a matter of safety, not secrets.” Nicky said, apologetic but unbending. “You may be trustworthy, but many are not.” 

“So, this is goodbye?” Joe studied him with carefully lidded eyes, so similar to how he’d looked their first meeting. 

“For now.” Nicky inclined his head. “I’m sure we’ll meet again. The world, after all, is only so large, and if your accounts of your dreams are any measure, our destinies are not so separate.”

Andy snorted, but Joe just smiled. 

“Farewell, then, Nicolò di Genova.”

“Goodbye, Yusuf al-Kaysani.” The others murmured and received their own farewells, and with a final nod, Nicky disappears into the trees. The strange interlude aside, he has work to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Joe watched Nicky’s back disappear into the trees with a strange feeling in his gut. Around him, the air itself felt thick, weighed down with frustrated potential. The world itself seems to be asking _Is that it? That’s all, after all destiny did to bring you together? How disappointing._

And it was so terribly disappointing, but there was nothing that Joe could do. They had set their feet on different paths.

Around him, the others were breaking down the little camp they’d set up in an attempt to get clean, dry, and fed after the battle from earlier. The chaos, which once had felt so effortless, now seemed to be missing something, a puzzle piece they hadn’t even known was gone, but now the empty space ached for its lack. Joe found himself tracing Nicky’s path with his eyes again and again, as if expecting him to reappear, asking if they wouldn’t mind him coming along after all. 

Foolish, but a thought he couldn’t get rid of nonetheless. If there had been anything he’d learned in their weeks traveling together, it was that once Nicky made a choice, he would not sway from it until the end. He had chosen the librarians, and Joe-

Joe hadn’t been asked to make a choice at all. 

“Let’s get moving.” Andy said, coming up next to him. Her hand clasped his shoulder for a moment, before falling back to her side. 

“It’ll be ok, Joe. He’ll be fine.” 

Joe jerked his head in a nod and turned away, shouldering the bag Nile had so kindly packed for him. It felt heavier than normal, but he didn’t bother commenting. He’d sort out the weight distribution later, when he could joke and tease as the prank called for. 

For now, he just wanted to walk in silence. 

Andy led them in a meandering walk along the edge of Chicago, the metal of buildings and the green of a century of new growth blending together in ways Joe would normally find quite beautiful but was too occupied with his own thoughts to really even notice now. 

“Where we going, Boss?” They weren’t retracing their steps, that was certain. 

Andy shrugged. “Seeing what there is to see. Good to have a change of pace sometimes, right?”

They had been mostly sticking to the plains regions lately- most of the communities that had survived and thrived were there, in the lands more fertile than those to the south with milder winters than those to the north. Andy wasn’t wrong, to want something different. 

“We haven’t been west of the mountains for a while. Might be a good idea to see what’s happening out there, get away from people who might remember our faces for a few years.” 

Paranoia was a lingering thing, made sticky with experience. Joe hummed acknowledgement of the conversation, but otherwise didn’t offer any suggestions. The others didn’t speak much either, and so the day passed in silence. 

It wouldn’t be until they had stopped for the night, only a few miles from where they and Nicky had parted ways, that Joe remembered the extra weight in his pack. With an annoyed sigh, he swung the bag off his back and began digging for whatever rock one of their number had put in their to mess with him. 

Something rough brushed against his fingertips, and with a quiet snort of triumph, he yanked the thing out, a teasing call for whoever had tried to slip this by him already on his lips- when he saw what it actually was. In his hand rested a small book, with thick, clearly handmade paper pages and a rough homespun cloth binding. It was surprisingly heavy for something so small, and was clearly the source of the extra weight he’d felt, but it wasn’t something any of his family would have put in his bag. 

Then- Nicky?

Burning with curiosity, Joe flipped open the cover and was immediately struck dumb. There, in neat Arabic script was his poem. With trembling fingers, he turned the page, reading with greedy eyes the art he’d once thought lost, even to himself. And then, on the opposite page, he saw it. The translation Nicky had recited, and a final note:

_Original work by Yusuf al-Kaysani, with translation by Nicolò di Genova._

_(Joe- words cannot convey what your poem has meant to me all these years. Thank you for sharing it with me. Perhaps one day, we will meet again, and I’ll get to hear you recite something new from these very pages to add to our web of stories. Thank you, Nicky.)_

He’d written it down- for Joe. Joe stared at the words, heart in his mouth and a strange tightness in his chest, but before he could do- something, anything, turn back, run away, _speak_ -

A gunshot echoed faintly from deeper within the reclaimed ruins of Chicago, and Joe’s head snapped up. 

“Nicky.” He breathed. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he knew it anyway- Nicolò di Genova had given him back his poem, and Nicky was in danger.

He turned to Andy, eyes wide, not even sure what he could say to convince her, and found her eyes, soft and strong and knowing, already looking back. 

“Let’s go.” Was all she said, and Joe’s shoulders slumped in relief. 

“Thank you, Boss.” 

It said something about how pitiful he must have looked that no one said a word about having to pack back up. Quynh even patted his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry. We won’t let anything happen to him! After all, I still don’t know how he managed to cheat his way out of our bet!” 

“He’s one of us, right?” Nile shrugged, and Joe smiled at them both, so very grateful that they weren’t questioning him on this. Booker didn’t say a word, just gave Joe a strange, melancholy smile.

“We’ve got a lot of ground to search and not a lot of time to get there. Fan out.” Andy ordered.

Joe was so, so grateful that this was his family, their support warm in his chest as they searched. Everything would be alright, he was certain of it. 

And then they found Nicky’s pack, stained with blood and its contents strewn about the ground, and Joe could only feel ice in his veins.

* * *

In retrospect, Nicky should have anticipated that those bandits weren’t actually bandits- or rather, that they weren’t _just_ bandits. Not with a gun like that.

That same gun was now being waved in his face, the wielder yelling something about brothers and heretics and the purity of ignorance- in all honesty, Nicky had tuned him out some time ago. His healing had made short work of the concussion, but his head was still pounding, and the man’s yelling wasn’t helping. Neither was his sloppy trigger discipline, which was just distracting as well as irritating, the flexing of his fingers so close to the trigger catching Nicky’s eye every time the gun moved. 

“Hey! Pay attention to me!” The man snarled, and with a sigh, Nicky dragged his eyes to his face. 

“What?” He asked, already bored. 

The gun barrel slammed against his cheek, knocking his head to the side. Spitting out blood, Nicky slowly turned his head back to the front, staring down his captor. 

“Tell us where you were going!” The man demanded. 

“No.”

This time, he went for the other cheek. 

“Tell us where you were meeting with those other heretics!”

“No.” 

Another blow, another demand.

“No.” 

A snarl of ineffectual rage, and finally something new, a boot to the gut. Even as he gagged, slumping down, Nicky was thinking. 

They’d broken his fingers when they’d jumped him, but Nicky had had a long time to learn exactly how long it took him to heal from just about anything. Beneath the blood and dirt, his fingers were perfectly straight and dexterous as they worked at the rough rope they’d used to bind him to the post. One knot had already come loose, suggesting they had just as much competence in keeping prisoners as they did ability to properly handle their firearms. 

He couldn’t see his pack anywhere, which meant they hadn’t realized it had anything of value in it- on one hand, that was good, since it meant they didn’t have any of the maps he carried, which might have given them a clue as to where he had been going. On the other, it meant none of his weapons were within easy reach, which might make this a bit more complicated. 

His interrogator- oh, the man had given some pompous title when Nicky had first woke up, puffing himself up the way so many of those types seemed to, but Nicky hadn’t listened and didn’t care- leaned down to his right in Nicky’s face, “Your lot killed my brothers. You’re going to wish for death before I’m done with you.” He promised, breath rank. Nicky just blinked back at him, hiding a smile as rage turned the man’s face purple. 

Then Nicky’s hands were free, and he was surging forward into a savage headbutt that sent the man reeling back, choking as he held his broken nose. 

Nicky smirked and pushed upright. The man drew breath, presumably to call for help (and why he’d thought it was a good idea to be alone with a prisoner just meant they were even more incompetent than first impressions suggested), when outside, the shouting started. 

In sync, both Nicky and his interrogator blinked, turning to the door, before reality reasserted itself. Somehow, the man hadn’t let go of the gun in all of the furor (Nicky gave him one point for that, grudgingly) and with trembling hands, he yanked the barrel up, pointing it at Nicky’s chest. 

“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” He shouted. Nicky took a step forward. “Stop! Stop! _Stop_!” 

Another step. He was scrambling backwards, back pressed against the door, when he finally managed to pull the trigger. The bullet ripped through Nicky’s shoulder, knocking him back a step - poor aim on top of everything else, they were barely a few feet apart- and for a moment the man seemed to relax, confident in his ability to retake the upper hand. Then Nicky crossed the space between them in one swift movement, hands wrapping around his head and giving it a swift jerk, breaking his neck before he could even try for a second shot. The body dropped to the ground, and Nicky shoved it out of the way, opening the door. It wasn’t even locked, and more and more Nicky was just disappointed in himself for being caught by what were so clearly a bunch of rank amateurs- albeit amateurs willing to kill him and every last librarian in the name of wiping out the heretical bearers of knowledge. 

Outside the room was a madhouse, the rest of the cultists scrambling around like chickens without heads, panicking as they were cut down by-

Joe and the rest? Nicky froze in the doorway, staring at his fellow immortals and former bodyguards as they devastated the forces of his kidnappers. Across the room, Joe caught his eye, a relieved smile breaking over his face. 

“Nicky! Catch!” And then, wonder of wonders, end over end, his sword hurtled through the air towards him. Nicky stretched out an arm, the hilt smacking solidly into his hand, and grinned. 

It had been a long time since he’d fought alongside someone but he and Joe slotted together as if they’d been fighting together all their lives. Between them and the others, it didn’t take long for the whole room to fall

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Nicky offered into the silence, wiping down the blade.

“Are you alright? We found your things, covered in blood.” Joe asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Nicky ducked his head, still sheepish.

“They jumped me while I was asleep. One of them shot me when I struggled. It’s all healed now.” He assured them, even fierce Quynh looking relieved. 

“How did you know?”

Joe shrugged, smiling. “I just had a feeling.” 

“Well, my thanks.” Nicky dipped his head.

“Why did they want you anyway? They didn’t even take your things.”  
Booker asked.

“Being a librarian is not without its dangers.” Nicky shrugged. When he was met with skeptical looks to a man, he held up his hands, laughing a little. 

“No, really. Even aside the usual travel things like bandits, not everyone appreciates our work. Some hate that we work to preserve the past and restore the future, preferring the power ignorance gives them. Some believe that the flare was an act of God, punishing us for our hubris, and any attempt to restore any of the world to how it was before is sacrilege. These particular people seemed to be a particularly disorganized offshoot of one of the more... fanatical cults I’ve encountered in the past, who believe everyone should revert to our animalistic roots. In particular they want to kill the librarians since we directly contradict everything about their beliefs.” Nicky explained, smiling. “Our stories, the knowledge we carry- everywhere we go we do our best to make lives better, safer, more comfortable, happier. Not everyone likes that.” 

“You’ve been dealing with them for a while?” Andy asked, eyes sharp. 

Nicky inclined his head, flicking his hand dismissively. “For as long as there have been librarians, there have been people trying to stop us.” He admitted. “I do my best to teach and warn the others, to keep them safe, but there is a reason we don’t have any identifying insignia or centralized hub.” He met Andy’s eyes steadily. “Libraries may be fragile, but I’ve done my best to protect this one.” 

“Alone?” Nile looked horrified at the thought.

Nicky just smiled at her comfortingly. “The other librarians help. My circumstances just afford me a unique opportunity to do more. I can’t complain.” When this didn’t seem to help, he softened the smile a little. “Well, it can be lonely at times. But it’s worth it.” 

“You don’t have to do it alone anymore.” Joe’s voice was almost too soft for Nicky to catch. Nick blinked at him, but Joe was already turning to Andy.

“Boss?”

“Oh no.” Andy muttered, but Nicky could see the smile she was fighting to hide. 

“C’mon, Boss.” Joe coaxed. “You know we could do so much more good if we helped them out. Nicky even said- they help people do better, be better. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“I have been bored just running errands.” Quynh drawled, examining her nails. “This seems like it might be an interesting change of pace.”

“Nile? Book?” 

“I say we do it.” Nile said, and while Booker just grunted, it sounded approving. 

Andy heaved a sigh. “Bards? Really? Did it have to be _bards_?”

“Librarians.” Joe corrected, meeting Nicky’s gaze with a smile so bright it crinkled up his eyes. “At least, if you’ll have us? That way you can add any poems I write to your web right away. I’ve got a whole notebook to fill, now.” 

Nicky’s smile widened to a grin, joy bubbling in his chest as the idea sank in. “I look forward to hearing every single one.”

He wasn’t alone, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The song Joe references is inspired by Mercedes Lackey’s ‘There’s Always a Reason’, an amusing little ditty about a bard that won’t leave a duo of adventurers alone. It seemed like something Andy would complain about. Listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ffRvys39Lo
> 
> Special thanks to the TOG discord server, who held my hands through far too much whining and complaining. You guys are the best! <3
> 
> Art by the wonderful perhapsapremiseart, who you can find under the same name on tumblr!
> 
> I’m at Airilymusing on tumblr if you ever want to chat there!


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